The Guardian
by Surreal13
Summary: Neal is undercover and gets in a tight spot. Luckily, he has someone watching out for him. Rating for violence, Neal whumpage and possibly triggery themes. Not slash, but if you put your goggles on you might see it.
1. Neal

**_Author's Notes: _**_Hi all! I swear, I have not abandoned "What Remains". I'm struggling a bit with part of a scene, but it's slowly (really slowly) coming together to my satisfaction. To make up for that, I managed to write something for the kink meme in over in the livejournal "collarkink". I fleshed out the plot and added a lot to the story since I first wrote it."What Remains" will be updated soon!_

_**Triggers/Warnings: **Just a few things to mention. **Child sex abuse is mentioned, but not shown.** Also, there is some violence (a beating), a fire, and everyone's favorite: Neal whumpage._

_**Prompt: **From the meme: __Peter, his eyes dark and fiery, carrying a badly beaten Neal, wearing Peter's  
coat. Neal's unconcious and cradled. Peter is refusing to let anyone  
near Neal or touch him. He growls that he listened to them for too long  
and he's getting Neal out of that damn 'House of Horrors'. There is  
smoke and fire around. I love the emotion of Peter being very possessive and protective of Neal._

_**Final Thoughts: **I hope everyone enjoys this story. I didn't quite get everything into this fic that the OP requested, but it comes close. Happy reading!_

_

* * *

_

Neal smoked a cigarette in the alley where he was to meet his handler, Greg Everett, for this op. Neal closed his eyes as he breathed in the smoke, and let his mind wander. He didn't want to think about the warehouse right now. If he did, it might break his heart. He hadn't quite expected this to be so difficult; he'd gone on dozens of other undercover ops, but those had only lasted for a few days. This was entirely different.

He had been approached by the agent several months ago to work on a case that the FBI was trying to close out. They needed someone smooth enough to talk their way in as an employee so they could get enough information to send Lester Tomilin to prison for good. Tomilin and his crew were bad guys, into everything from racketeering to child pornography. It was impossible to get at his books for the real evidence of his crimes. They needed access to his accounts and shipments in order to convict the man. Neal didn't even have to finish the file to know that he wanted in.

Peter hadn't wanted him to go on this operation. He had thought it was far too dangerous. Hughes had been reluctant as well, but more supportive than Peter. Neal took a drag off his cigarette and grinned at the memory of Peter's response to Everett's request. His partner had paced around the conference room and done a lot of arguing against the thought of Neal going on a risky op that could take months.

Neal was touched by Peter's concern, but at the same time he was gratified that the FBI was letting him choose a case to work on. Hughes had given him the file, told him to go home and think about it, and let him know in the morning what he wanted to do. There was no threat of jail if he refused the case; nor was there pressure to walk away. After three years, he was finally allowed to choose his own case. In the end it was an easy decision, even with Peter and Mozzie joining forces against him. Neal went back to Hughes the next morning and told him that he was in.

It had taken a month of training before Peter was satisfied that Neal could go in and defend himself. Another three weeks was spent fishing to get him into the group. Eventually, Neal got an interview with Tomilin and impressed the man by convincing a reluctant buyer to pay up the money he owed. That was three months ago, and Neal had quickly worked his way up the system, while he quietly siphoned information back the Bureau.

He had enough information on them now to ensure that everyone in Tomilin's crew would be going to prison for a very long time. They could have closed out this operation three weeks ago, but it was likely Tomilin would have only received a fifteen year sentence. Now that a shipment of children from Russia had been brought in to be sold or used in his sick fantasies, they could put him away for life.

Neal texted Everett to let him know that he had gotten the information they needed to put Tomilin away for good, and that he had the paperwork trail to prove it. It only took five minutes for the agent to text him back; they would meet in Brooklyn for the 'sale' Neal had been working on.

And that's how Neal found himself in the alley, smoking a cigarette. He had to play the nervous, desperate, nicotine-addicted Steve Tabernacle, a wealthy businessman who had just gone through a brutal divorce. He hated smoking, but it was important to keep his cover. He never knew who could be watching. Everett had made it clear that Tomilin was constantly spying on his associates.

To be honest, Neal didn't care for the agent in charge of the operation. Peter and Neal had worked with him once before on a smuggling case. Greg Everett hadn't held it against Neal that he was a convicted felon. In fact, he saw Neal's skills as an asset. The problem Neal had towards the man was his attitude he was often uppity and rude – especially to those lower on the totem pole – but at least Neal knew that Everett wouldn't sell him out.

Peter had been concerned about Neal working for him because he thought that Everett was extremely arrogant. He had a tendency to not want to listen to other people's opinions about how things should go; so far he had been lucky, but eventually that cocky attitude would get him in trouble. Neal wasn't too worried; he knew Peter would be watching the operation every step of the way. Peter was a little over-protective at times but he meant well.

The sound of someone shuffling down the alley broke Neal away from his thoughts and he opened his eyes to see the familiar face of Greg approaching him. Everett was posing as an interested buyer of grenades and C-4. It was a handy cover to arrange for the occasional meeting. "Good to see you, Steve," Everett greeted him. Neal crushed out his cigarette and leaned against the wall.

"Hey Lance," Neal responded easily. Everett looked around to make sure one else was around. Neal had long ago earned the trust of Tomilin to go to meetings alone, but it didn't hurt to be careful. Tomilin had been edgy the past few days; Neal wouldn't have been surprised to 'bump' into one of his associates from the crew in this area of town.

"You ready? Tonight's the big night." At Neal's nod of confirmation, Everett grinned and dug something out of his coat pocket. It was a small, crescent-shaped object. Neal gave him a questioning look. "It's our latest toy. A mini receiver-transmitter. Completely undetectable. Put this in your ear so we can keep track of you when we bust down the doors."

Neal popped the tiny device in his ear. He couldn't even tell it was there. Everett checked to make sure it was well hidden, and clapped him on the shoulder. "Good man. When we come charging in at four, drop to the ground and give yourself up, you got it? That's all you have to do. Then we can go out for drinks after."

"The cargo is in warehouse two," Neal said as Everett handed him an envelope of money. Neal counted it off as he spoke quietly. "They're cordoned off with wire fencing. Two guards, both armed with Glocks and shotguns."

There was a flash of anger in Everett's eyes. "I'll get them out, don't you worry. See you at four." Everett clapped Neal on the back before he walked off. Neal pocketed the money and drove back to give Tomilin the good news about his sale. The exuberance Neal showed Tomilin when he told the older man that he had closed the deal on a weapons and C-4 sale wasn't an act.

Neal couldn't wait to sleep in his own bed, wear his own clothes and have dinner with Peter and Elizabeth. He missed everyone, from Mozzie all the way to the cute girl that worked the counter at the deli near the office. It would be nice to work on something really boring for a while. Mortgage fraud cases would be fantastic. That way he could focus and try to forget some of the things he'd seen since going undercover.

* * *

Four o'clock came and went. There was no sign of the feds, and no one had contacted Neal to let him know what was going on. He couldn't ask because Tomilin had dragged everyone into a meeting. He seemed worked up about something, because they had to sit through an hour of discussing security and how breaches were handled.

_Fuck_ Neal thought. Lester had been spooked – or warned. At five the meeting broke for a short dinner. Tomilin wanted everyone back in forty minutes to continue the discussion. _Definitely spooked._ Neal decided. He would have to try to contact Everett –

" – move out tonight," Tomilin was saying to Ernest Trout. Trout was one of Lester's strongmen. He was not a nice guy, and Neal avoided him as much as possible. The other strongman, Wolfe Gutstein was talking on his cell phone. Neal lingered, trying to find out what was up. "Too dangerous to move the kids. We'll have to get rid of them," Tomilin said. "It's not like I can't get more." He chuckled, and then spotted Neal.

"Tabernacle!" he said in a jovial tone. "I've been meaning to congratulate you on a job well done. You certainly have earned your position. Come, let's get dinner." Refusing would raise suspicions, so Neal dutifully followed Lester to his private office in the warehouse. Trout and Gutstein trailed after them. He wasn't sure whether to be relieved when they continued on their way. He needed to stall. Everett couldn't be much later, could he? Those kids were going to die soon if the FBI didn't show up soon.

_"Twenty to thirty minutes, Neal," _the voice in his ear startled him. It was Everett. _"Sorry for the delay…we had a situation. Can you stall them? We'll be there soon."_ Then the link went silent. Neal wondered how much Everett had been able to hear. It was going to get very ugly in a few minutes, so he hoped the agent appreciated his efforts tonight.

Lester gestured for Neal to be seated at the polished oak table, where two plates of food already waited for them. Neal sat across from Lester, who gave him a broad smile. "You, Steve, are going to go far in life with me as your backer," Tomilin said. "You've got a real future with us. I want to offer you a bonus for all your hard work."

Neal took a small bite of food and returned Lester's smile with a bright one of his own. Twenty minutes was a long time. What the hell had happened to delay them? "Thank you, Mr. Tomilin. I really appreciate it. But I think there may be something we need to discuss first…"

* * *

_"Neal! Neal, damn it, answer me!"_ the voice was irritating. Neal groaned and tried to lift an arm up to swat at Peter, and tell him to go away. He couldn't move his arms. Neal blinked his eyes open. Well, his left eye opened. His right eye was swollen shut. Where…oh. Right. He had confessed to being an informant. Tomilin was furious; he had called Trout and Gutstein back to help him take care of things in his office. Neal couldn't remember much after the blow to his jaw. He remembered being on the floor, and getting kicked in the gut and ribs several times. His world had gone black thanks to the boot that connected with his skull.

_"Get up! Come on Neal, I know you can hear me!"_ it was Peter again. Neal grumbled and tried to wiggle out of the ropes that bound his arms together. Searing pain shot up his arm and he let out a yell, too woozy to try to fight the sound back. It took him far too long to get his hands free. His left wrist was definitely broken, so he could only use one hand to get loose. He had nearly passed out twice, but Peter was persistent. He kept yelling at Neal every time he started to drift off.

_"We're here, Neal. Where are you?"_ Peter asked. Neal untied his feet and rubbed them. Dimly, he noticed that he'd been stripped down to his underwear when he'd been unconscious. That was a little disturbing. Neal stumbled to his feet, and was immediately thrown back to the floor as an explosion rocked the building. The room spun, and he struggled to remain awake. The unpleasant scent of gasoline and smoke hung in the air…and something else. There was screaming in the distance that died off quickly with a last agonized wail. _"Neal! Get moving!"_

Neal groaned and muttered a complaint against Peter. As he opened his eyes (when had he closed them?), the sound of sirens and gunfire filled the air. Thank god…the cavalry had arrived. Neal chuckled with relief and imagined what Peter would say to him when he found him.

Peter would get that little frown on his face, and his brows would draw together. His eyes would narrow, and that voice would be filled with a mixture of fond exasperation and anger. No doubt Peter would lecture him on how he hadn't taken the training seriously enough. Or that he shouldn't have been the one to go in undercover. Or maybe he'd just make fun of his suits so he could hide his relief that eventually Neal would be all right.

A coughing fit hit him as the smoke finally reached the area he was in. _Not good, _he thought, and dragged himself to his knees. _Gotta move now. _If he could find the other fire exit in the warehouse, he would be all right. Hopefully. He didn't let himself think about the children - Hopefully they'd been found before Tomilin and his crew had gotten a chance to torch the other warehouse to hide the evidence.

_"Don't stand, Neal. Crawl,"_ Peter instructed him. Imaginary Peter; Peter wasn't anywhere near here. He was glad for the company, even if was pretend. Neal let out a hoarse laugh, and was rewarded with another coughing fit for his efforts. He dragged himself to his knees and began crawling. He couldn't use his left wrist without sparks dancing up in front of his vision. Pain slowed him down, and Neal's vision wavered. When it cleared, he thought he saw Peter standing near him, his black trench coat flapping in the breeze like a cape. _Hallucination,_ Neal decided. There wasn't a breeze in the area, and Peter was just watching him. Real Peter would have helped him up by now.

_"You're an idiot, Caffrey,"_ Imaginary Peter said. Neal didn't mind; Peter's insults were a mask to hide his true feelings. Imaginary Peter wasn't doing a stellar job of keeping the worry from his voice, however, and Neal told him so between coughs. He was disoriented in the dark, and he had a feeling he was going in circles. There were a lot of little cubicles and pallets that divided the place up. It was like a maze, and…

_"Move faster Neal. You've got to get closer to the exit"_ Imaginary Peter urged him on. Neal started coughing again. He groaned as his ribs ached. They weren't broken, but they throbbed. He crawled a little farther, following the image of Peter. He was so close…he knew he was…and then his arm gave out. He lay on the floor, dazed, listening to the crackle of flames as they worked their down the aisle of crates. He had to get back up, but he was so tired, and his head hurt so much...

_"I'm almost there, Neal,"_ Peter said and Neal suddenly realized the voice was coming from the device he'd place in his ear. Miraculously it had not been damaged when he had the crap kicked out of him. _"Come on, I'm almost there! Move away from the fire, Neal!"_

He wanted to get up. Cool air blew around him, soothing the heat on his skin from the fire that was getting closer. He was barely able to breathe; his eyes burned and watered. He managed to crawl a few more feet, but then he accidentally put pressure on his broken wrist. With a hoarse cry, Neal slumped to the floor. He couldn't go any further. His vision threatened to melt away completely as he saw a figure approach him. Real Peter was walking towards him, lit up by the hungry flames racing along the wooden pallets. It was too dangerous to be there, and Neal tried to warn his partner to get out, but all that came out was a sad croak.

"Oh Neal. What did they do to you?" Peter said, his voice catching as he quickly checked Neal over for damage. He could feel Peter's hand on his hair, his cheek, and he finally felt safe. Peter helped sit him up. Neal winced as his chest burned with pain. "Easy, I have you," Peter said, and wrapped something around his shaking body. "Come on...we have to get out of here," Peter said as something exploded close by. "Can you stand?"

Neal tried to respond, but ended up coughing instead. Peter held him tightly for a second, waiting until the fit had ended. Then he stood, pulling Neal to his feet. It was too much – Neal's head spun and his legs buckled. Peter caught Neal before he could fall, and cradled him in his arms. Neal wrapped his good arm around Peter's neck and rested his head on his partner's shoulder. He was glad that Peter had come looking for him. He wanted to thank Peter for saving him again, but as they stepped into the cool night air, another coughing fit hit Neal. He wheezed and gasped as the world dimmed. He couldn't catch his breath. The pain began to fade as his eyes slipped shut and he sank helplessly into darkness.

* * *

**_Part 1/3_**


	2. Peter

**_Author's Notes: _**_I want to thank all my lovely readers and reviewers. I'm so glad you have enjoyed this story so far. I hope you like this next part as well._

_Big thanks go to **whitecollarfan, gin2001, and ericadawn16 **for all their help. :-) I couldn't have gotten this done without you._

_**Disclaimer: **I always forget this since it's a given: I do not own White Collar, the characters or the plots. Jeff Eastin does, and bless him for it. Please don't sue me, because I have no money. :-)_

_All right, enjoy this next chapter!  
_

* * *

Peter hadn't wanted Neal to go on this operation. He'd had a bad feeling about it from the start. As soon as Everett had approached Peter and Hughes about this assignment, Peter had argued against it. Neal had done well on his previous undercover ops, but this was much longer than what the younger man was used to. There was no timetable; Neal would have to go in for however long it would take. That's what had worried Peter the most. He had no say on the matter, unfortunately. Hughes had finally admitted how much Caffrey had grown on him by allowing Neal to pick a case to work on. It was a rare treat when the boss let someone pick an assignment.

Even as he argued against it, Peter knew what the choice would be. This was a big deal to Neal; his first chance to choose, to be his own person. Peter knew that no matter how much he wanted Neal to be safe, he couldn't take away the younger man's pleasure at this opportunity. Not to mention he knew the case presented by Greg Everett was compelling enough that his partner would snap it up in a heartbeat. Neal never could stand to see a child in distress. He would take it, of course.

Peter had insisted that he at least be involved in Neal's training. Hughes gave his blessing and Everett agreed, with a certain amount of mocking concession. Peter wanted to make sure Neal went into this op with as much knowledge as possible. Peter made sure Neal was trained in unarmed combat, how to handle a knife properly, and that his shooting was up to FBI standards.

He had even bullied his way into the work on Neal's new identity as Steve Tabernacle, one of his partner's old aliases. He coached Neal on what to do, what to say. Peter called in some favors because special permission had to be granted to hide that Neal was a convicted felon. They had to build a credit and employment history, set up bank accounts, new social security number, everything. Peter wanted things to be perfect. The mission was dangerous enough that even the smallest detail could get Neal caught.

New clothes, new hair, new personality, new place to live. Peter took Neal to look at apartments. Tomilin was too paranoid to allow even a small chance of him discovering a connection between 'Steve' and Neal. Peter suspected that Neal was amused by his behavior. To Caffrey's credit, he took it all in stride, and didn't even tease Peter about his protectiveness. He seemed to understand that Peter needed to do this for him.

A few agents who worked under Everett were less understanding. They thought that Peter was being unreasonably anxious. Like their boss, they seemed to think if anyone could handle this, Neal could. Peter was just as confident that Neal could manage the case, but he was less than confident that things would go as planned. Things had a way of spinning out of control when Neal was involved. It was a pattern he'd noticed over the years while working with Neal - the more dangerous the suspect, the less likely things would go smoothly. Caffrey had a knack for getting himself into trouble, and Peter was going to have to sit on the sidelines while Everett took charge.

It was difficult to do so much work on the case and know that his involvement in the case was limited. Knowing that Greg Everett was running the op. did nothing to alleviate his anxiety. It wasn't that Everett was a bad agent. He was considered one of the best. And unlike other agents who had worked with Peter and Neal in the past, he didn't treat Neal like he was a commodity instead of a person. Neither did his team. In fact, they were great towards Neal. It was just that Everett was too damn smug and over-confident.

That was one of the reasons Peter had finally asked (demanded) to be part of the bust. He wanted to be there when Neal was finally free to go home. He hadn't thought to ask for any other agents, but Hughes knew Peter and he knew Greg. They would need an intermediary, and he picked the mild-mannered Clinton Jones to go with them. The director had agreed to allow Peter to accompany Everett, and had also suggested to the skeptical agent that Jones would be a valuable asset. Peter heard Hughes tell the other agent that Jones was steady, reliable, and would provide a "restraining influence on Peter if necessary". This last part was entirely untrue, but it mollified Everett enough that he shut up. Peter didn't mind. He was relieved that his best junior agent would be coming with him.

Time crawled along for Peter as he had suited up and waited for the word that they would get moving. The time was fast approaching when they were supposed to head out - and then his worst fears were realized. They were delayed for some reason. Jones made the phone cal to Hughes, to let the boss know that something had gone wrong. Everett wasn't willing to share what the problem was with Peter or Clinton, but he knew the game was up when Hughes came down and demanded to know what the problem was. Greg had to finally admit that there was a possible mole in the office, and that he had been hoping to figure out who it was before they moved out. Never mind that Neal had been expecting them.

Of course, Everett said that Neal would be fine for a little while longer. Everett, Peter decided, was a moron and a bastard. He should have known that Neal's position was compromised and that the CI would be in terrible danger. But Everett firmly believed he would be able to fix everything with no problem. He was wrong. Fucking moron. Looking for the leak was secondary to removing their people from the field. That was the most basic of all training. In his eagerness to get the bad guy, Everett had tossed the rules out the window for the sake of his own ego.

That arrogance had made Peter want to punch him on various occasions. Now, listening to Neal confess that he was a snitch and goading Tomilin's men into attacking him, Peter didn't want to punch Everett. He wanted to kill him with his bare hands. He was in a van riding with other members of the FBI task force, listening to the audio of Neal's delay tactics. It was a risky move for Neal, but everyone knew Tomilin enjoyed torture. Neal was probably relying on that fact to buy enough time for the FBI to show up. Peter decided that the first thing he'd do when he found his best friend and partner was to throttle him for choosing this particular type of distraction to buy time.

A sickening crack resounded over the comm. link, a sure sign that Tomilin had not taken the news of Neal's betrayal well. Peter listened with enraged helplessness as his best friend took what sounded like a terrible beating. A beating that could have been completely avoided if things had been done right.

_Neal should never have been put into this position,_ Peter silently fumed. Everett had assured him that his plan was airtight and that everything would be fine. Everyone kept saying that to Peter – things were 'fine'. Empty, useless reassurances that were repeated to him, meant to keep him quiet and out of the way. Neal will be fine. The operation is going fine. Everything was fine.

Except that things weren't 'fine'. On the live feed, Neal's taunts turned into moans. Peter realized Neal was at the end of his endurance, and his heart plummeted. They were still fifteen minutes away. Fifteen minutes that Neal might not have. Peter and Jones exchanged concerned glances in the back of the van. They both knew what could happen in that small amount of time.

Neal lout out a sharp cry of pain that was cut off suddenly by a heavy blow. The silence over the comm. link frightened Peter and for a moment he feared that Tomilin and his men had managed to kill Neal. Another dull thud sounded over the link and the silence was shattered by a harsh intake of air from Neal. There were a few more thumps from what Peter presumed to be Tomilin's men continuing to beat an unresponsive Neal. Finally, Tomilin's muffled voice came over the speakers.

"Enough. We'll torch the place. Leave him here." After that there was no more clear sounds save for Neal's labored breathing. It didn't make Peter feel any better to know that he'd been right about how dangerous this mission would be. He checked the map and frowned when he realized they were six minutes away. It was plenty of time for Tomilin to set fire to the warehouse, plenty of time for Neal to die.

* * *

Things were tense in the van. Hughes had his patented stoic face on, but Peter caught the sideways glance he sent to Everett. It was small consolation that Hughes was as angry as he was. Peter didn't dare say anything to a subdued Everett. He didn't even look at the man, because if he did whatever happened next would probably get him fired. He kept his peace until he heard a soft groan from Neal. Peter looked at the agent in charge of the tech gadgets, and raised an eyebrow. The young woman proved to be smarter than Everett; she didn't even bother to argue with Peter. She just moved aside so Peter could talk to Neal.

"Neal, wake up!" Peter said. Neal mumbled something unintelligible in response. It wasn't much but it gave Peter hope. Hughes was motioning for the tech to get Peter wired. Good boss. He knew that as soon as they reached the site, Peter would be out of the van. Not that Peter had planned on asking for permission, but it was nice to know that Hughes was so supportive.

He continued to hassle, bully and threaten a woozy Neal in an attempt to rouse the other man from his stupor. Finally, Neal grumbled that he was working on the ropes, and to get off his back, he was doing the best he could. It was a relief to hear Neal speaking, but Peter's elation was tempered by the fact that his partner seemed totally disoriented and was obviously in pain. "Neal, what's wrong?"

_"Think my wrist is broken. Hurts..."_ Neal mumbled as he struggled to free himself. He let out a few pained grunts, unable to hold them back. Peter glared at Everett whenever Neal let a noise slip.

Everett was responsible for this disaster, and Peter was going to make sure he paid.

The van came to a screeching halt. Peter was out the door less than half a second later, and on his way to the warehouse where Tomilin's office was located. According to what they'd heard in the van, that's where Neal had last been. Now all he had to do was find Neal before the entire warehouse went up in flames.

Too late. He could already smell the smoke. He was going to definitely kill Everett for this disaster. "Neal, we're here. Where are you?"

Neal's response was not encouraging. _"My clothes are gone. They took my -"_ Neal's voice cut off with a slight gasp as the warehouse was rocked by an explosion. Panic seized Peter, but before he had time to think the worst, Neal spoke again, his voice more slurred than before. _"Hurts...M'dizzy."_

"Neal, get moving!" Peter snapped. He couldn't get the first door to the warehouse open. It was either locked too tightly or the heat had prevented the door from opening. "Just keep moving. Come on. Talk to me, Neal."

His normally confident and clear-headed partner sounded terrified and confused. He was mumbling to an imaginary Peter. _"There's so much smoke,"_ Neal coughed._ "It hurts to breathe."_

"Crawl, Neal. Don't stand. Just crawl," Peter ordered him. He kicked in a door and began searching for Neal. The smoke stung his eyes, but fortunately, the flames were still on the other side of the building. Of course, with the fresh oxygen, the fire was growing in size. There wasn't much time left.

_"Oh, hey Peter. Oh wait, that's not you. Hi, Imaginary Peter." _Neal coughed and tried to laugh at the same time. Peter would have been amused that Neal was hallucinating about him. There was nothing funny about Neal seeing things, however, and Peter felt more irritation towards Everett. Peter told him so, and Neal laughed again, before saying quietly, _"I feel sick. I can't figure out...I'm confused where I need to go."_

With every word Neal uttered, Peter's fury grew a little more. Everett had fucked up. Once Peter was through with him, he'd be lucky to get a job as a janitor. If only Everett had listened to him instead of telling him to butt out. Chances were the mole would have been discovered long before now. Neal would definitely have not had to wait for back-up to arrive, and he wouldn't have had to use himself as a distraction to keep the kids safe. If Peter had been allowed to run this operation, he would have called fire and rescue the minute the words "Let's torch the place" had been uttered.

Peter ran through the maze of cubicles and shelves with crates. He had to back track twice because of flames and he was getting confused. No wonder Neal was having difficulties finding his way out. If he couldn't find his way out when he was lucid, how could he expect Neal to get out on his own? The only reason he hadn't given up hope was because of Neal's rambling voice on the other end of the comm.

"Peter, you have to get out of there," Hughes said. "Fire and rescue will be here soon. They can get Caffrey out."

"NO!" Peter snapped, fighting back a cough of his own. He wasn't leaving until he found Neal. He rounded a corner and realized with dread that he was back in the corridor he'd entered from. He was about to head back into the burning warehouse when he spotted the figure crawling into the passage leading to the door. The fire was spreading quickly now, fueled by the constant stream of oxygen. They only had a few moments before everything was ablaze.

"Neal, thank god! I'm here." Peter said just as some of the crates near Neal began to fall apart. "Neal, move! You have to get away from the fire!" Neal crawled along but finally slumped down. Peter reached the younger man's side just as something nearby exploded from the heat. He had to get Neal out now, but paused in horror as he got a good look at his partner. In the eerie glow of the flames, Neal looked terrible. His face was a mass of bruises, and his one eye had swollen almost completely shut. He had been stripped to his underwear and the exposed skin was sooty and red.

"Oh Neal, what did they do to you?" Peter asked, his heart aching. He had heard it all, of course, but even that didn't prepare him for the scene that greeted him. Despite the heat, Neal was shivering. Peter tore off his jacket and wrapped it around Neal's thin frame. The other man had lost a shocking amount of weight while he had been undercover. More small explosions came from nearby. "We have to get out of here. Can you stand?"

Neal tried to respond but ended up coughing instead. Fear gripped Peter; what if Neal's throat had been burned? He pushed that out of his mind as he helped Neal to his feet. It was obviously too much for Neal's battered body. He swayed and started to fall. Peter caught him and swept him up in his arms like his friend was a child. It was a ridiculous move, and awkward, but he didn't have time to find an easier way to carry Neal. Peter moved as quickly as he could with his barely conscious partner in his arms. Neal shifted, and put his arm around Peter's neck. It made it a little easier to carry him, which was good; because Peter was afraid he was going to lose his grip on his partner.

Neal rested his head trustingly against his shoulder, obviously too exhausted to do anything else. He was trying to say something, but he couldn't stop coughing. Peter tried to hush him, but Neal never listened to him anyway, so Peter wasn't surprised when Neal kept trying to talk. The fear grew that Neal's throat had been burned. _Don't think about that, just get him out of here _Peter thought. He had taken just two steps outside when Neal finally gave in to his unconsciousness. The coughing fit continued even as his body went limp. If it hadn't been for the drive of his own desperation, Peter probably would have dropped him.

"Easy, Neal," Peter murmured in a raspy voice. Neal was unconscious and couldn't hear him, of course, but it made Peter feel better to talk to him anyway. "You're safe now." He continued to carry Neal a little distance away from the burning building, but he was quickly running out of energy. Neal was tall, and even with the weight loss, he wasn't exactly easy to hold. Every time someone offered to help though, Peter snarled at them and told them to fuck off. He wasn't letting one person from Everett's team touch Neal. No way.

Peter didn't care about any of them; they were all incompetent as far as Peter was concerned. Neal would never have been in this position if they had just done their damn jobs. With his partner's unconscious body cradled in his arms, Peter let his anger grow. Neal could have died - those children had almost died - thanks to that idiot's incompetence, and his team's willingness to just blindly follow orders. Peter would have his badge. He'd have all their badges.

"Let me help," someone said. The voice was familiar, which was a relief, but Peter was too wrapped up in his thoughts to realize who it was. The person moved as if they wanted to take Neal from him. He was going to have set Neal down, but he didn't want any of Everett's team near his partner.

Peter held Neal tighter, ignoring the ache in his arms and back. "No. I've got him. I can take care of him myself." It was a bit childish to say; Neal wasn't a toy after all. He was just afraid that Everett's team would try to turn this into a good moment for them, and he didn't think they deserved any pats on the back.

"Peter, I don't think Neal wants you to drop him," the other person said dryly, and he blinked, surprised. It was Jones offering to help. Peter relaxed slightly. Yes, he could trust Jones to want to help for the right reasons. Peter offered him a sheepish grin as his junior agent grabbed Neal's legs and helped carry the younger man to a safer distance from the warehouse.

"Ambulance will be here in three minutes," Jones said. Peter nodded and allowed Jones to help him ease the unconscious consultant to the ground. Neal coughed and moaned, but otherwise showed no signs of awareness. Peter refused to leave Neal's side. He needed to hold on to him, reassure himself that Neal was alive.

"Stay with us, Neal," Peter said, and used the jacket Jones offered him to cover Neal's shivering form a little more. By the time the medics reached them, Neal's breathing had become more labored, and he was fading in and out of consciousness. Immediately the medics intubated Neal. They were concerned that his throat was swelling, although they reported to Peter that they didn't see any burns in the airway. That was excellent news, but Peter was well aware of how tricky smoke inhalation could be. Neal was still in danger, even without burns.

Two other people approached the group, and the last person Peter wanted to see at the moment spoke, "I want to know what his -"

The burning warehouse was the perfect backdrop for Peter's mood as he crossed to Everett's side in two steps and landed a hard punch across the other agent's jaw. Everett crumpled from the force. The medics, fortunately, remained completely focused on Neal, although he thought he heard one snicker when Hughes, Everett's companion, told Peter not to punch Everett again - at least not where he could see it happening.

"Right," Peter said his brown eyes dangerous. He wanted nothing more than to indulge his temper, and drag Everett to his feet so he could lay him out again. He fought back the impulse - barely, and instead said shortly, "I'm going with Neal to the hospital."

Hughes nodded and gave Peter a rare smile. "Tell Neal when he wakes up that he did well," the director said. Peter nodded once, and got into the ambulance with Neal.

* * *

A little over two hours later found Peter seated on an uncomfortable plastic chair by Neal's bed, holding the younger man's uninjured hand. The breathing tube had been replaced by a face mask once they determined there was no injury to the windpipe, something Peter was incredibly grateful for. Neal was responding well to the oxygen treatment, and even though he would still need surgery in the morning to repair his wrist - and possibly his spleen -, Neal was doing extremely well considering his injuries.

Neal stirred slightly, his lashes fluttering and his head turning slightly, but after a moment he stilled. Peter idly brushed back a few strands of hair that had fallen across Neal's forehead. His partner had been growing restive since he came back from his CT scan, but so far Neal hadn't been completely conscious. Peter thought that it was probably best right now. He would be in a world of pain for the next few days. Any sleep the younger man could get would be beneficial to his recovery.

The limp hand in his twitched, the fingers flexing gently as if Neal was trying to remember how to work them. The movement brought Peter out of his thoughts, and he looked up in time to see Neal's lashes begin to flicker.

"Hey Neal," Peter said. He squeezed his partner's hand, and was rewarded when Neal's hand curled around his. Blue eyes opened partially and slid closed almost immediately as the younger man let out a miserable sound to indicate his displeasure at the light.

"Easy," Peter said as he reached for the call button. The nurses had wanted to know when Neal woke up, and Peter wasn't about to leave his side anytime soon. "Nice and slow. I know the light hurts, but your eyes will adjust. Come on."

This time when Neal blinked his eyes open, they stayed open, although the swelling around one eye prevented it from opening all the way. Neal looked around the room and gave Peter a faint smile, although he looked puzzled as he became aware of the mask. He tried to move his hand to touch it, but Peter gently stopped him. "It's an oxygen mask," Peter explained. "Just leave it alone for now."

Neal relaxed a little, and pinned Peter with a questioning look. Peter could practically see the questions piling up as Neal revived some more, but before he could get into filling Neal in on what had happened a nurse joined them. Even though he couldn't speak yet Neal's eyes flirted outrageously with her as she bustled around him. Peter rolled his eyes and left the room so she could conduct her examination. Still, Peter couldn't quite hide his smile.

Same old Neal. By morning he was certain that Neal would have every person he came into contact with wrapped around his little finger. There wouldn't be a more fussed over patient in the hospital, and Neal would eat it up. It was good to know some things never changed.

After the nurse was a doctor visit, followed by the surgeon who was consulting on Neal's case. Peter was allowed to re-enter the room because Neal had managed somehow to convey that he waived HIPPA in regards to Peter.

The doctors were pleased that Neal was responding so well to oxygen therapy. They were keeping a close eye on the internal injuries; so far they didn't believe he needed surgery but the doctor said they would know more in the next 24 hours. The broken wrist would be operated on in the morning. It was not an immediate threat to his health, so they wanted his oxygen levels to get as close to normal as possible before they did the surgery.

All in all, the doctors were cautiously optimistic about Neal's recovery being swift and uncomplicated. It would be several months before Neal would be allowed to do any field work however, and Peter could tell Neal was already sulking about the idea of being stuck doing a lot of paperwork. He would have to work hard to find some cases to keep Neal entertained until it was reasonable for him to go back into the field.

After Peter questioned (more like interrogated) the doctors on Neal's treatment options, they left and Peter was alone once more with his friend. Peter seated himself in the chair and rested his hand on the injured man's shoulder. They would be moving Neal to a room now that he was stable, but until the nurse came, they had a few moments alone. "You did well, Neal," Peter said warmly to him. Neal's eyes brightened at the praise, leaving Peter with a giddy, warm feeling in his chest. "Hughes is proud of you...and so am I."

Neal gave him a grin, and tapped his fingers on the bed in a pattern that Peter recognized the Morse code. Of course Neal would want information on what had happened after he'd passed out. Neal was sometimes flippant about working for the FBI, but he was as serious as Peter was about taking down the bad guys.

_K-i-d-s _Neal spelled out. His eyes were wide and anxious, so Peter quickly reassured him.

"The kids are safe. We got there before Tomilin could do anything to them. They're in child services, and because their governments are being contacted. They'll be taken care of."

_T-o-m-i-l-i-n? _Neal asked next. He looked a little worried. Peter had a feeling his partner was concerned that in the chaos of the fire and rescues that the man had gotten away.

"Yes, we got Tomilin." Neal looked relieved. Peter nodded. "We have enough to put him away for a long time. No more hurting kids for him."

The younger man visibly relaxed at the news. Peter thought about giving Neal more details, but already Neal's eyes were drooping from the pain medication he had received. The details could wait. Neal blinked his eyes open a little more as he struggled to stay awake.

_S-t-a-y. _Neal asked. Peter nodded once. Neal gave him a grin that even through the mask could have lit up a Christmas tree, and then he surrendered to sleep.

* * *

_**Part 2/3**_


End file.
